


Like Real People Do

by The0verboss



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Cartographic Mishaps, Courtship, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Kissing, Love, M/M, No beta we fall like Crowley, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Song Lyrics, sorta?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:54:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22381438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The0verboss/pseuds/The0verboss
Summary: The apocalypse might as well have been an asteroid for how it reshaped some of the peninsulas Aziraphale knew lived inside his demon. There hasn't been enough time between then and now for Aziraphale to mount these new peaks and categorize them. How high are they? How much of Crowley now lives below sea level where before it had been the tall tops of mountains.Set to Hoziers "Like real people do", an exploration of some PTSD and how two people who love eachother navigate.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53





	Like Real People Do

**Author's Note:**

> _for my husband, a combat veteran whose craters I am still learning the shape of._

The realisation is slowly dawning, creeping. A black snake in tall grass, slithering. 

Aziraphale is a smart man, naive perhaps, but not stupid. He knows how to read a map, how to find his way to the answers he needs. He'd tracked down a misplaced Antichrist all on his own, you know. 

Where Crowley is concerned he's needed to be a cartographer, as well.

The apocalypse might as well have been an asteroid for how it reshaped some of the peninsulas he knew lived inside his demon. There hasn't been enough time between then and now for Aziraphale to mount these new peaks and categorize them. How high are they? How much of Crowley now lives below sea level where before it had been the tall tops of mountains. Most of Crowley is beneath the surface, down in the deep waters where only eyeless, shapeless, unnamed creatures live. Crowley's secrets are living things, best left forgotten. Not pursued.

The problem only becomes obvious when those deep sea creatures float to the surface, the pressure that holds them together absent. Mermaids, leviathans, and yes, Kraken’s too. They all float up dead.

The first new measure, the first rerecorded mile, happens in the bookshop. Crowley is coming for drinks. He will probably bring flowers. He's brought flowers the last few times, just because. _Found these on the way, Angel. Saw the peonies, thought of you. The tartan bow was too good to resist, must have been made for you._ Excuses. Aziraphale knows Crowley didn't see them on the street. He knows that Crowley grew them in his dark flat, with his own two hands. He loves them, loves him, even more for it.

Crowley does bring flowers, but Aziraphale is ready, recognizes the new stage of courtship they've entered. They aren't yet ready to talk about it, but it doesn't change the truth of the matter. They're both secretly quite romantic at heart. 

Aziraphale lights candles and miracles them around his back room. Only in places where they won't catch fire to his collection. A bit of ambiance. He's read about candlelit dinners, has even attended a few, oblivious to his would-be paramour's attention. He knows they pair well with chocolate and wine and yes, bouquets of flowers.

Crowley keeps his sunglasses on for the whole evening. He doesn't drink more than a glass. He goes back to his flat early. Aziraphale doesn't see him for three days. 

He makes a line on the map, shapes out a little bit of new coastline. Something is broken. Eroded away.

The courtship perseveres. 

They move to the South Downs. Together. A cottage down a long road, removed from the rest of the world. A secret. Crowley begins a habit of lounging, slovenly, about the town nearest them. Long limbs folded over the back of benches as he watches the sky. Day or night, sunglasses on. People think he's a drunk, a miscreant, they are too polite to say anything about it to his face. He loves it, their consternation. 

He also takes up gardening. Herbs and flowers. An apple tree. Even more impressive for the climate, a lemon tree.

Aziraphale uses these for his own new hobby. Baking. He's not very good at it when he starts. He burns the first of his pies and breads to dark charred cinders.

Just now, there's a plume of smoke billowing out of his oven, rolling fog, and it's hiding the next new hill. Smoke on the water. He's trying to fan it out of the little kitchen window over the sink when Crowley wanders back in from the garden. 

"Oh my dear, could you just-" 

Crowley's posture is tight and his snake tongue slips out to sip the air. 

A quick snap and the burnt loaf vanishes. 

"Oh, oh thank you darling, I really can't-"

"It's fine, Angel. Not a problem." Crowley says, shoulders stiff, hands finding their way into his small pockets. "Wasss planning to go into town. You need anything?"

Aziraphale knows Crowley had planned to stay at the cottage today, that he'd spent all of yesterday in town. He doesn't need anything and he says as much. Crowley is out the front door and in the Bentley before Aziraphale can finish.

He's beginning to see the shape of this new continent, the height of its mountain range, its peaks so deep below the water he'd need to make his own light. He suspects it's a volcano. 

He finds his demon later, a large snake curled in the bathtub, icey shower water beating down on black scales. Aziraphale says nothing. Simply hefts the thick coils over his arms and hauls the snake to bed. Tucks him in against his own warm body. 

Something is wrong. 

Today, Crowley is working in the garden. It's been a year since they moved here, moved in together. An anniversary. 

Aziraphale has made Crém brulee. It's a success, the sugar melted perfectly, charred dark at the middle. The custard is lemon and he's decorated the top and saucer with berries. All from the garden. A sliced apple finishes off the presentation, arranged neatly like an unfolding wing. 

He takes it out to the little cafe setting in the garden, two chairs and a small table, along with a light spring wine. Crowley glances up at him from where his been troweling and pulling various weeds. 

A snake tongue slips out and sips the air. 

Aziraphale gulps and glances down at the caramelized sugar. 

_Oh, you absolute idiot._

The bookshop. The Bentley. The hellfire in heaven. All that fire. All the burning. Aziraphale sees the shape of the crater now, It's depth, the new ground, and meteorite slices imbedded in his demon. He knows how the asteroid fell to earth.

"Crowley-"

"Smells delicious, Angel." 

Crowley is looking right at him, no sunglasses, his smile a bit wobbly. Too fragile. _Don't ask me. Please. Don't._

Aziraphale is a smart man, a little clueless sometimes but not stupid. He knows how to avoid a volcanic eruption. He knows how to go slowly. He pulls the cork and pours the wine. He sets one glass across from himself, picks up the spoon and breaks the burnt sugar shell, slips it under a berry. Brings it to his mouth. Closes his eyes, hums in pleasure. 

"Yes well, hurry up and try this. I do believe I've outdone myself." He's not looking at Crowley's shaking hands. He's not watching the demon stab at a weed a few more times before viciously yanking the poor plant out at the root. 

"Be right there Angel. Almost done." 

Stab. Stab. Stab. Yank. A second passes. A minute. Ten minutes. Half an hour. Stab. Stab. Stab. _Stab._

Aziraphale has nearly finished the brulee. He's left most of the apple. 

Crowley's shoulders slump, his breathing stutters. He pulls his sunglasses from his shirt pocket with dirty hands, smears soil across his own nose as he puts them on.

"I'm sorry...I don't-"

"Darling, have I told you how wonderful these black berries of yours have turned out?" 

He has. 

Crowley mumbles a shaky, "Yea, well...they better be," to the ground he's still kneeling on. A brutalized patch of dirt where a few dandelions had had the audacity to sprout in. He frowns down at it. He'll have to add more dirt, the hole he's dug is much to deep for the begonias he had been considering planting. His angel had loved the begonias out front. Aziraphale clears his throat to draw Crowley's attention back. 

"Come here, try one." Slowly, gently. Don't push too hard. _It's your turn not to go too fast._

Crowley sniffles before standing, wiping dirty hands on his trousers. He saunters over slowly, doesn't take his seat. Instead he stands next to the table, looming, quite impressively if Aziraphale does say so himself. 

The angel offers one of the deep purple berries, clasped between two fingers. He waits.

Crowley ignores him, instead picking up the spoon. He breaks a bit of the shell and scoops some of the custard. Aziraphale tries not to be awed by his love's bravery as he plops the berry onto the spoon along with the rest of the desert. He fails and instead decides gazing intently as Crowley eats it is a better option. 

Crowley nods, licks his lips. Sets the spoon down, snags a slice of apple.

"It is good, well done Angel." 

"Thank you my dear." Aziraphale says as his hand closes on Crowley's wrist. He redirects that boney hand his way, nips at the apple slice, eats it directly from Crowley's dirt stained hands. "Had to get better eventually." 

He looks into his demons face then.

"Everything gets better eventually. With time, and patience. Persistence."

Aziraphale is not talking about his baking ability. Crowley knows it. He's shaking again.

"Ngk. Aziraphale-"

"You know, I should think I deserve a kiss. Wouldn't you say? I mean this desert did turn out quite good, and I did work so hard-"

Crowley does. Kiss him that is. A quick dive, hands kept away so as not to get any dirt on his angel. Their lips press together once, twice. Aziraphale's hands find their way into his hair. He pulls Crowley away for a moment, a breath. 

"When you're ready and not a moment before."

"Angel-"

Aziraphale pulls him back in before Crowley can speak another word, kisses him quiet. It's very effective and soon Crowley can't keep his hands to himself, has to touch Aziraphale's hair, the sides of his face. Miraculously, Crowley’s hands leave behind none of the dirt. 

"Try the wine too, my dear." Aziraphale murmurs against Crowley’s swollen red mouth when he can finally stand to pull away. 

"Hm." 

Crowley unbends and takes his seat across from Aziraphale, plucks his sunglasses from his face and sets them on the table. The yellow of his eyes is surrounded on either side by white sclera turned a light pink. They are glassy as marbles. He pinches the bridge of his nose before picking up the glass, swishes it. 

"It's pink, Angel." He says with a sneer. 

"Just try it." Aziraphale says arching an eyebrow and spooning more of the custard into his mouth. "Don't you trust me?"

Crowley’s expression goes soft and he brings the glass to his lips. Drinks deep, trills the wine a bit and swallows.

" 's not bad." He mumbles, reaching to snag another of the apple slices off Aziraphale's plate. 

Aziraphale smiles at him, turning the saucer to put the bits of fruit closer to Crowley’s reaching hands. Another edge of the map filled in, it's pitfalls and whirlpools sketched in indigo ink on a well loved parchment. No more _here there be dragons._

He's sure in time he'll map the rest of his love's new plateaus, will name the translucent organisms that live in Crowley’s abyssal depths, will excavate all his wrecked ships. 

But later, not now, not today. Today is for sweet wine, and kisses and one more mile. Today is for patience, for persistence. Today is for knowing they will have the time, and it will get better. Today is for love.

***

I had a thought, dear  
However scary  
About that night  
The bugs and the dirt  
Why were you digging?  
What did you bury  
Before those hands pulled me  
From the earth?  
I will not ask you where you came from  
I will not ask you, neither should you  
Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips  
We should just kiss like real people do

I knew that look dear  
Eyes always seeking  
Was there in someone  
That dug long ago  
So I will not ask you  
Why you were creeping  
In some sad way I already know  
I will not ask you where you came from  
I will not ask you and neither would you  
Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips  
We should just kiss like real people do

-Like Real People Do, Hozier

**Author's Note:**

> This has been rattling about in my brain and I know so many Hozier fanfics out there already. Just couldn't help myself. Feel a bit late to the good omens party, but what're ya gonna do. Can't believe it's my first fic in this fandom and I didn't even put any porn in it. Losing my edge in my dotage for sure. Thanks for reading ;) leave me a comment I love them.


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